BwainThots

“Are you alright?” The words were so inadequate, and I chastised myself mentally. Of course she isn’t alright, you twit.

Her eyes were glassy, her face stained with dirt and bruises. “You stopped me,” she said numbly, as if she didn’t hear my words. She stared unseeing at the floor.

“I’m sorry?” Again, my voice seemed so awkward, not as if that was unusual. The girl’s nearly literally been to hell and back, and you’re asking her to repeat herself. Lovely.

She swallowed visibly and tried again. “You stopped me,” she said again. “From killing him.” Her eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t accusatory, but baffled, questioning. Her next words were nearly a whisper, nearly a plea. “Why did you stop me?”

I took a breath, looking for something comforting to say, looking for the ‘right thing’ to say, when she looked up, her large brown eyes boring into mine.  I closed my open mouth and just looked at her for a moment. Her clothes were in tattered rags, her hair gnarled and dirty, but it was the way she held herself that really moved me. She was tense and quivering, somehow looking ready to run and ready to collapse in one stance. Her eyes begged me for an answer while her lips trembled slightly.

“You’ve been through enough these past few months,” I said quietly. “I didn’t think that you would need something like that on your conscience to add to things.”

She closed her eyes silently and tears spilled over, and I was back to my clumsy search for words. “I’m sorry,” I confessed, reaching a hand out then hesitantly pulling it back. Her next words made me freeze.

“Thank you.” She whispered it. “Thank you. Thank you.” She placed a hand on the metal counter beside her to steady herself.

I was suddenly gripped with the severity of her situation, suddenly angry at everything that had happened to this girl. When I spoke, my words were strong, but thick with emotion. “He can’t hurt you anymore, you know.”

Her eyes opened, and she wearily gazed at me.

“He’s dead,” I said shortly.

Her eyes widened slowly. “Oh.” Without warning, her knees buckled.

I stepped forward quickly and gripped her elbows, taking her weight into my chest as her body was racked with sudden uncontrollable sobs. “Not by your hand,” I whispered into her hair. “Not by your hand. It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore. He can’t hurt you anymore.” I chanted it softly, closing my eyes as her sobs slowed to a soft shake of her shoulders…

I’ve found I can always describe you in terms of weather; a bluster of wind that makes it difficult to breathe, thundering rain that makes it hard to think, a sandstorm that brings tears to my eyes, and my favorite, a burst of sun that warms my cheeks.

I’ve always been fond of the changing weather, but sometimes I wish you could just be my sunshine.